


We Don't Need Anything or Anyone

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-24
Updated: 2006-09-24
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean can't seem to forget the night Sam left. Stanford-era, placed after "Headlights, Highways (Your Life Collides With Mine)"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**We don’t need anything or anyone  
Summary:** Dean can’t seem to forget the night Sam left.   
**Rating:** PG-16  
**Characters:** Sam, Dean (WINCEST)  
**Word Count:** 3,557  
**Warnings:** Wincest, pre-sex (because I’m cheap)  
**Author’s Notes:** Stanford-era, placed after [Headlights, Highways (Your Life Collides With Mine)  
](http://1shotjunkie.livejournal.com/7313.html)Written for [](http://bluesister.livejournal.com/profile)[ **bluesister**](http://bluesister.livejournal.com/) at [ ](http://a-kindara.livejournal.com/profile)[**a_kindara**](http://a-kindara.livejournal.com/)’s [MMFEoD](http://a-kindara.livejournal.com/73789.html) (I hope something you _relatively_ like).   
Title taken from "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol  
  
 

\- - -

California wasn’t too far, not really. Especially if you drove one-hundred-and-forty the whole way from Nebraska, never slowing down for red lights or other drivers and your running off an inane adrenaline rush that pushed you from the comforts of sleep to steal away in your car and drive for hours until daylight breaks on the horizon; and it’s the most beautiful sunrise in history with the San Francisco skyline painted black against the orange and red. 

\- - - 

There was a clock on the wall that caught Dean’s eye; pendulum tail swinging, wide caricature eyes flickering from side to side. It was an odd piece of décor, considering the place it rested was a back alley bar with imported beer that Dean couldn’t pronounce and the atmosphere was thick with blue smoke, failure and superiority complexes. 

The bikers and hustlers stood in a dimly lit corner where the deteriorating pool table resided and Dean was tempted to play, but he just sat at his two person table alone, twirling his bottle across the chipped and scratched wood. Pretty girls in tight tops and short skirts glided past Dean, giving him a wink and a nod, but he never followed them to a promised bittersweet euphoria and the chance that he’ll whisper someone else’s name. Some came around more than once, determined they’d take him home, but he refused to leave; told them he was waiting. They asked for what and he didn’t answer – he knew they wouldn’t understand. 

The beer numbed his lips and his head; his hand was lethargic and the bottles in front of him were moving in slow motion. One fell to the floor, breaking into a million little pieces and no one noticed, just stepped over it. And as Dean watched people step over the bottle shards and fragments of paper and glass, passing it by without a care in the world because it was Dean’s fault it fell, it was Dean’s responsibility to clean it up he was reminded distinctly of someone he knew. Someone he had come looking for and he was left once again to pick up the all the tiny pieces.

\- - - 

California’s cold at night, Dean realized. He walked the streets alone because he didn’t know all the places to go like the locals; he tended to wander down empty streets and forbidden dark alleys anywhere he went, stepping off the sidewalk and away from safety, arms outstretched to the sky as he stumbled down the road of suburbs and the normal he never wanted. But everyone else seemed to.

Dean sat underneath a sagging tree in a neighborhood that just screamed _this is what real life should be like_ – families that society carefully constructed in the two-storey houses, porch light on and minivan in the driveway. 

Dean watched the family across the street from beneath the security of the darkness of his tree, wondering if he could ever get to a place like this and stay there. A picture window led to a picture house to a picture family eating dinner, passing ceramic bowls of freshly prepared salads and potatoes around the table, smiling like all families should. Dean almost choked on the irony of it all; he watched the family talk, though he couldn’t hear the words and he wished he could, just so he could know what life should really be like. Even if it was for a minute.

It was entirely tempting to find out what tore Sam away.

\- - - 

It became more and more that Dean understood why Sam left. 

The gates to Stanford stood tall and Dean watched students run across campus grounds, talking the words Dean still wished he could hear. He wanted the normal, but not for too long. Normal was far gone by the time he realized it ever existed and the only reason he wanted to taste it, to try it, was because it was obviously enough for Sam to leave him behind. 

Dean never liked to think of the chances he missed, the life he could’ve had, but it was enough for Sam to forget their conquest, to forget their purpose, pack up and go to college. All the chances missed are just ways of giving you more chances, more opportunities, to make the best of the life you already have. Dean tells himself that every day, just so he can sometimes forget what he doesn’t have and what he shouldn’t have. It was enough for Dean, but never enough for Sam. Never enough. 

Laughter rang clear across the grounds; Dean had to look away because it was too much for him to take. His fingers fluttered to his lips and he remembered the burn on his legs, the ache in his fingers and the white-hot coil twisting and turning his stomach as he tasted Sam in and all around him. It was enough for Sam to leave, not enough for him to stay and he never even thought about what he could do to Dean with one kiss.

It became less and less that Dean was forgiving Sam for leaving.

\- - - 

Dean looked for Sam and he would’ve torn apart this city if he had to. He sat in a different bar every night, walked down another street every morning and he watched Stanford open its doors and waited for Sam to step out. Dean needed to know what the chance he missed with Sam was – it’s the only chance he’s wanted back in his whole life.

\- - - 

"How’s it going?"

The voice was almost unfamiliar to Dean’s ears, but he cleared his throat, sitting up in his motel bed. "Alright," he answered in a quiet voice.

There was a pause, a silence that caused Dean to speculate him knowing. Dean was staring at the wall, picking at the wool blanket beneath him. He tried to hold back the screams that clawed at his throat.

 

"Oh." The voice waited. "Well – I’ll let you go then."

Dean could almost hear the phone being clicked shut, but he couldn’t loose him yet. "I went by Stanford yesterday and –" Dean stopped; something wasn’t right with the silence. 

"You did?" It wasn’t hopeful, it wasn’t angry… it wasn’t anything. And that’s what worried Dean.

"Are you still mad?" Dean had to ask, he just had to know. They hadn’t talked since he left – not really. There wasn’t much to say.

"No. Just not ready."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

"Okay. See you."

"Wait," Dean blurted out.

"What?"

Dean took a deep breath. "I’m sorry Dad. For Sam, for Mom, for – well, for everything."

"I know, but it’s not your fault. Just… come home quick."

"Yes sir," Dean muttered automatically and snapped the phone shut, somehow taking the plea for an order.

Somehow, Dean wished he could really tell his dad why he drove down to California – it didn’t take much convincing that it wasn’t about Sam when Dean told him. Sam’s name was less common since he had gone.

\- - - 

It was for a long silent moment when Dean sat alone in his room, fingers wrung and wound into each other, he wondered if it was all worth it. It had been months, too many months, and Sam hadn’t called. Sam hadn’t written. Sam hadn’t done anything and Dean didn’t know if that night meant anything, if that kiss meant anything and he wondered if he should stay. He wondered if his effort was in vain, if he should’ve just given up like Sam did – maybe they were meant for each other, but not in the way that Dean hoped. There are different kinds of love Dean found out; for him, there was a fine line between what the right love was and what the wrong love was to have for Sam. And he usually stepped over the line – Sam had. Once, at least, that Dean was sure of.

Dean knew Sam needed him, but maybe not the way that Dean wanted it – he wanted Sam and all of Sam, inside and around him, but maybe… just maybe Sam didn’t want it. It convinced Dean to pack up in a fury and he _knew_ the entire thing was in vain because all he did was drink himself stupid, stand outside the place that tore Sammy away and hoped for the normal as he beat the sun to the morning and he beat the ground beside him until he was sure it hurt just as much as he did.

It was the phone call from John and the lack of one from Sam that persuaded him to leave. He felt a bit satisfied as he backed out of the motel parking lot because he left Sam this time, it was he who had the upper hand, the one that controlled the pain but Sam wouldn’t feel it because he didn’t know.

\- - - 

The pendulum swung violently and suddenly without warning; Dean bit his bottom lip as he turned around on the highway, tires squealing across the pavement in the dead of the night. As soon as he thought he had made up his mind, he changed it. 

The pendulum swung faster and Dean stepped on the gas, the eyes of the clock flickering back and forth in his mind. Just as Dean thought he had lost it all, he knew he could get it back. It was stupid – he should’ve decided right away what was going to become of him and Sam – and Dean _knew_ it was stupid, but he turned around nevertheless and he drove back. While driving back, Dean realized that he was the only one holding on anymore. 

He felt like he was the only one keeping the damn family together and it made sense, it really did. Sam was too far gone, caught up in his new life, in his new ways, in his new quest and John was curled inside himself and it wasn’t like he hadn’t before, but Sam leaving really did it – it disconnected him from everything. Dean thought it would pass, but months had flown by and all Dean ever got out of him was direct orders and a few short sentences, broken and quiet, and Dean didn’t know if he could handle that any longer.

Dean turned around more for the fact that he wanted everything back to as normal as they could be because he had nothing more than a few bad memories in his head and Sammy – his Sammy – by his side to share those memories and all this _so fucked up_ that was his life. But deep down, he turned around because he wanted Sam and that’s all that mattered.

\- - - 

Dean didn’t know if he could’ve made it through the gates, but it was in moments like those that Dean really tested himself and he always came out surprised. He was stronger than what he anticipated and it was like that every time he found something to climb over, something to dodge and to get around Dean saw it as another job just so he didn’t have to come to terms with seeing Sam when he leaped over the fence. He knew it was going to hurt more than it would bring him relief.

Dean didn’t know he could’ve found Sam’s room since there was so many doors and so many numbers. The number he had only heard once mixed with coordinates and dates and cryptic meanings until all he could see was numbers.

Dean had different ways - in full detail - that he had planned out in his head of how he was going to react when Sam opened the door. He would demand Sam come back that instance, drag him down the stairs and away from it all. He would push Sam into the room and tell him how he really felt, _show_ him how he really felt, because Dean wasn’t really good with words. Dean never planned though that when Sam opened the door that he wouldn’t be able to breathe or talk. 

Sam was rubbing his eyes and grumbling about how late it was when he stopped – almost like he had hit a brick wall and that wall was Dean. They stood inches apart; Sam’s fingers clenched into the door frame and Dean staring at Sam with wide eyes, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

"Dean?" Sam managed to croak out, his voice pitching in the middle with disbelief. 

"Why?" was all Dean could think of, feeling pressured to make the moment count. " _Why_ did you do it Sammy?"

Sam frowned. "Why did I _leave_?"

Dean choked back the tears and told them to go away. He swallowed the large lump in his throat; he had never felt so vulnerable then at that moment, trying to explain to Sam the wounds he opened that night. "That night, _the_ night I drove you to Arizona to catch your bus – why Sam?"

Sam pulled at the drawstrings on his pajama bottoms, looking down at his bare feet. "I just thought you should’ve known – like, before I left."

"Yeah, but you just can’t do that and then _leave_!" Dean shouted and Sam’s eyes widened. He looked down the hall and he brought his finger to his lips to quiet Dean, but Dean was having none of it. "Don’t tell me to shut up Sam, you’re the one who –" Dean began but Sam grabbed his elbow and pulled him inside the dark dorm room.

"You’re lucky my roommate is out tonight or I wouldn’t have kept you here this long," Sam hissed as he flung himself on the small couch in the corner of the room. 

Dean began to think then that it would’ve been better to have kept driving back to Nebraska. 

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. "I – I _kissed_ you that night because I didn’t want to deal with the chance that _maybe_ you didn’t feel the same way," Sam explained, his voice speaking the words like they were something evil and wrong on his tongue. "Not for too long anyway," Sam added with a small shrug.

"But I do," Dean answered in a weak voice – it sounded so helpless and he hated it. 

"Obviously," Sam retorted, waving his hand as if he was showing Dean off at an auction. "You drive all this way, deceive Dad into letting you come out, _actually_ get to my dorm in the middle of the night – which I can’t understand – and willing to hear my side of the story for once."

Dean’s lips pursed and he shoved his hands back in his pockets and thanked everything that was holy for the darkness that covered him. "I just want to know what could’ve happened if you didn’t leave."

"We would’ve been more fucked up and twisted than we already are and it would be just another secret to carry on our shoulders," Sam said in a strange voice and Dean didn’t like how serious he sounded.

"Sam, I just want to know what it could’ve been _like_. It’s been killing me ever since that night." 

Sam looked away from Dean’s face at this and Dean took a risk and stepped forward, his hand reaching out, useless, to Sam. "Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about it?" Dean whispered.

Sam half shrugged, half shook his head. "I dunno."

"There’s no in between answers this time. Yes or no Sammy!" Dean demanded taking the last step to the couch so he towered over Sam and Sam wouldn’t look up at Dean, carefully avoiding his gaze.

"Yes, I’ve thought about it okay? But I never let it control my life!" Sam exclaimed a few minutes later, his voice exasperated and he looked at Dean with huge eyes that nearly made him back up. "I didn’t think about it because I thought a second chance would never come along – I never tried again because I was scared of what would be between us if you didn’t want it." 

On impulse, on a reaction and a message telling him to comfort in a way that he wasn’t used to, Dean fell to his knees and took Sam’s large hands in his. "It’s alright, I want it."

Sam looked at their hands, hiding his face behind heaps of messy bangs. "I could never lose you, Dean, not like that. Not over something like this," he said, squeezing Dean’s fingers.

"You won’t," Dean muttered reassuringly. "Hell, Sam, you won’t _ever_ lose me."

Dean felt the same rush of adrenaline, the same want as that night, sparking nerves and what John would say as Sam’s lips crushed against his awkwardly. Dean parted his lips before Sam could even ask and Sam’s tongue was tangling with his before he could even ask. Dean’s fingers were running through Sam’s hair and Sam was lifting up Dean’s shirt, fingers gripping into tight skin like he would never let go.

Dean hoped it wouldn’t. 

They were spread out across the couch awkwardly; Dean had his hands by Sam’s head, digging into the upholstery and one of Sam’s legs was wrapped around Dean’s waist, pulling him down, their bare skin grazing across denim and leather. Sam rocked his hips, rubbing their half-hard cocks in a painfully pleasurable way that made Dean bit out a scream.

"Jesus _fuck_ Sammy," Dean breathed, biting down on Sam’s neck so he wouldn’t scream again as Sam kept rocking his hips. "Slow down."

"What the hell _for_?" Sam hissed. His face softened, though. "Been waiting too long."

Dean had Sam pinned to the couch, their faces almost touching and their bodies moving in sync with each arduous breath. Sam brushed his hair out his eyes; his hand rested on his forehead for a moment as he stared up at Dean with large eyes, asking a million questions Dean wasn’t sure he could answer. Dean closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to calm his haywire nerves, before looking back at Sam. Their noses bumped as Sam rearranged himself beneath Dean.

"You okay?" Sam asked uneasily, placing his hand on Dean’s upper arm. Such an innocent, almost brotherly gesture that it took Dean by surprise.

"Yeah – fine." Dean pressed his face into Sam’s shoulder, breathing in the faint smell of home and cheap laundry detergent. He felt Sam’s arms snake around his waist and he settled in comfortably to Sam’s body. "Just –"

Sam’s arms tightened around Dean’s waist. " _Don’t_ tell me you’re nervous."

"No Sammy. I just want to know – are _you_ okay?" Dean raised his head from the crook in Sam’s shoulder to look at him.

"I’ve been waiting too long for you to get emotional on me Dean," Sam said exasperatedly. 

Dean chuckled before Sam pulled his face down to his, lips crushing together so their teeth scraped against one another. Sam’s fingers dug into the side of Dean’s face, sure to leave bruises and crescent-moon shaped fingernail marks; Dean was biting all too often and all too hard. It wasn’t a lover’s kiss, or a gentle kiss. It wasn’t even remotely loving or caring. It was fueled by a vehement passion that coursed through their veins red-hot and lead-heavy from waiting too long, all too long, creating purple-bruised lips and temporary reminders of their night. But it was them – it was their way of saying _yes, we want this_. Because they couldn’t say it themselves.

Dean’s thumbs hooked into Sam’s pajama bottoms, pulled them down to Sam’s knees and Dean took Sam’s throbbing cock in his hand; the look in their eyes when they caught each other, they both knew they were saying _and I’ll do anything to keep it this way._

\- - - 

Dean woke up the next morning covered in half-dry sweat, his legs lost in a tangle of blankets and Sam nuzzled into his side, snoring softly. He stretched his arms like a cat above his head, rolling his head back and tried to ignore the dull throb in his legs.

"Morning sleepy head," Dean muttered, gently shaking Sam awake.

Sam mumbled something along the lines of " _Nngh_ " and rolled away from Dean, his arm moving forcibly to cover his eyes. Sam breathed deeply, his body sagging from the effort. "What time is it?"

"Dunno – but I don’t want to wander around your place alone," Dean commented. He kicked at the blankets around his legs, trying to disentangle himself from the mess.

" _Nngh_ ," was the answer again as Sam rolled back into Dean, pressing all the weight he had down on his brother.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled groggily, ceasing his kicking; Sam’s leg was wrapping around Dean’s own and he slowly pushed his way up off the bed so he was laying across Dean. Their bodies were sticky and it pulled uncomfortably when Sam rearranged himself.

"Just me and you Dean," Sam muttered into Dean’s ear. "No one else. Okay?" And it meant something, actually meant something and Dean believed it because they just don’t say things like that to each other. It’s a rare phenomenon for them to say things, sentimental things; words were few and far between. Dean knew to take it for all it was worth.

Dean took Sam’s face in his hands and pulled him in for a gentle kiss; just like the first one they shared. "No one else, ever."

And he meant it.

\- - - 

Sequel to be coming, cause how could me, who lives for hurting these boys, leave it at a schoompy ending? Besides, we ALL KNOW how it turns out. 


End file.
